Rest
by Reigning Rats
Summary: Of sleepless nights, mac'n'cheese, and late night visits. RussiaAmerica. Cute, fluff stuff kind of.


Alfred Jones never ran from anything. He was the hero that would still stand even with a bullet lodged in his chest. Always standing proud. Never backing down. That was Alfred, that was America. It wasn't running away. Least, that's what he had reasoned to himself before making his way to the most deserted, remote, isolated part of his country he could think of; North Dakota.

It wasn't running away. It was. . . Taking time off. Least, that's what he and his boss had agreed upon. After seeing Alfred's rather ragged appearance, to put it nicely, he'd been ordered to take some time to just relax. Of course, the opportunity was an overwhelming relief. Things had gotten bad and didn't seem to be getting any better. The feel of the unease and tremblings of a revolution were nagging him as his people whined and bickered and just bitched about everything.

The complete chaos and conflicting notions screamed at him. They made his stomach churn, made him sick. He couldn't think most times. Problems were rising in America and nothing was getting fixed. All the worrying, heavy hearts, and anguish from his people lay within, constantly rippling through his consciousness and asserting themselves as they pleased. He couldn't escape it, only submerge himself within the shit storm as he ran about doing a nation's duty.

Being in the middle of a god forsaken no man's land was helping, though. The cool air slipping off the Dakota plains and flat lands caressed him as he leaned half out the cabin window. The sky was a mix of pinks and purples and rich tones of gold as the sun slowly slipped beneath the horizon. The entirety of it seemed untouched by human hands and completely soothing. It was just what the doctor, or his boss as it were, had ordered.

Once the sunset was complete and the twilight emerged, America contemplated attempting sleep. While D.C. was complete hustle and bustle as of late, this was different. It was far from all the noise, all the commotion. It was a world all its own and while the unrest still rotted his insides, maybe sleep would come in this paradise. For once, maybe he would be able to ignore his people. Maybe just once. As fucked up as that sounded. He just needed rest.

With a weary sigh, America resigned himself. He laid beneath the quilt in the quaint bedroom and stared at the paneling above. It wasn't easy pushing the thoughts away. It was more difficult trying to shut out the voices that were calling to him, yelling at him, demanding things he couldn't give them. All of it was unsettling, it was making him sick.

Rest would not come. Just as the nights before. With a grunt, Alfred swung his legs over the edge of the bed and weaved a shaking hand through his mused locks. He wanted sleep, he knew he needed it, yet his people would not rest so he could not. Bleary eyes looked into the dark of the room, taking in the vague shadows of the simple room in the pale light of the moon. So peaceful. So serene. Yet, he could not sleep.

He padded across the cool wood floors quickly, making his way into the bathroom. A glance into the mirror revealed what he already knew. Dark, sunken eyes stared back at him, a new shade of dull blue that seemed listless and utterly torn. He was thinner, not by much, but, after the rise of unemployment, some of his people had begun to starve. Just as he was now. It wasn't terribly bad. Least, he didn't think so.

With a weak shrug, he ghosted into the kitchen, sitting at the small table and just staring off. A knock at the door brought him from the lazy staring contest with the paneling of the wall. Another sigh escaped his lips. He knew it was too good to be true. No doubt, more trouble had arisen in D.C. and he was being called back to help deal with the mounting issues.

"I'm coming. Fuck," he called out through the little shack.

America rose, shoulders slumped, as he went to the door and leaned against the wall before prying it open. It wasn't his boss. It wasn't an aid. It wasn't even anyone remotely official looking having come to collect him. It wasn't even England coming over to harass him relentlessly about getting back to work, back to fixing the apparent mess he had caused.

It was Russia.

His face contorted from displeasure, pinching as he straightened up and stood blocking the doorway. There was no real energy to glare or even coldly stare, so he just. . . Looked, with lips pinched into a thin line. America held no real ill will towards Russia any longer. There was only discomfort at the others presence.

"What can I do you for?" Alfred asked quickly.

"Just to talk," was the simple reply he received.

Russia made a move to step inside and, grudgingly, America stepped back and allowed it. He really didn't feel like trading insults. Peace, rest, and quiet had been his goal when settling into his North Dakota haven. Even with a guest, he could at least try to still achieve that goal. Shutting the door behind him, America moved with Russia into the sitting room. He popped on the lamp near the corner and dropped onto the sofa while Russia occupied the chair opposite.

With his elbow resting on the sofa arm, chin in hand, and body half sitting, America casually remarked, "I didn't know you knew where this place was."

He got a graceful shrug and devilishly childish smile. "I have my ways."

America snorted. He wanted to bite out '_Of course you do_' but he refrained from saying anything of the sort. Instead, he forced a smile onto his lips and closed his tired eyes for a moment. "What do you wanna talk about? You could've just called."

"I've been concerned about you," Russia replied honestly.

The comment took Alfred back from a moment, his gaze flickering to amusement and confusion.

"On a personal level, you understand," Ivan continued. "You're going through a lot, _da_? One shouldn't be alone when these things happen."

America shook his head and took Texas in hand. Jabbing his palms into his eye sockets, he tried desperately to drown out the sleepiness and now constant unrest his people personified within him. He looked back up and placed Texas back on before conjuring up a brighter smile. He willed some of the old, overbearing confidence to come up over his features again.

"Nah, you got it all wrong. I'm just fine," Alfred answered. "Heroes can handle anything."

"Ah," Ivan observed, mirth entering into his voice as he spoke lightly. At one time, that tone would have sent America on edge. Now that the turmoil of the Cold War had begun to soothe, he really felt no need to become defensive. "That's why you're hiding in the middle of nowhere."

America shrugged absently, "Middle of bum fuck Egypt is the best place for a hero to kick back. What can I say."

That childish smile upon Ivan's lips faded to a displeased frown just tugging on the edges of his mouth. America had always been this way. Russia should have expected it. To some degree, he had. No one was blind to what America had become. Most of the world either disliked or hated him, his economy had gone into a recession, dragging down half the globe as well, and it seemed the nation sitting across from him was divided on nearly every issue to ever be conceived of.

Alfred coughed, bringing Russia from his quiet musings. "Always so vulgar and guarded. We are speaking here on personal terms, as beings not nations."

With a roll of his eyes, the younger country questioned dryly, "Do we ever stop being countries?"

"No," he answered softly, "I suppose not."

America shrugged again, willing away the tension building between his shoulders as he propelled himself off the sofa. With a weary grunt, he jerked a thumb towards the small kitchen area, "Whatever. Coffee?"

"_Da_, that would be-"

Russia never got to finish that thought. From the bedroom, a loud crashing of noise echoed out through the still night air. The larger nation watched with amusement as Alfred stiffened before grumbling and disappearing down the hall. He did not come back immediately, being too caught up on the phone. Ivan listened in on the conversation.

"Yea, sir?. . . Oh. Fuck. _Fuck_. Those little brats! They have no right!. . . Right, yea, sorry, sir. Thanks for letting me know. I'll catch you later when I get back to D.C." Alfred snapped his phone shut and went back into the sitting room, actually managing a scowl at the utterly _pleased_ face Russia had. "The hell are you so happy about?"

He got a dismissive hand waved at him, "Nothing, America. You are just amusing."

America rolled his eyes, crossing his arms before leveling the other with a rather challenging stare. Then his energy was sapped and he went into the kitchen without another word. Were he to be questioned on it, he could blame it the lack of sleep from his late night visitor. The excuse sounded plausible enough. Least, to him it did. No one had to know it was his people keeping him up night after night.

A few moments after the short exchange earlier, Alfred reappeared with two mugs of coffee. He set one on the table sitting before Russia while he clutched his own close. The mug was hot, heat searing into his palms, but it felt somehow comforting. Grounding. Silence stretched on. Neither drank his coffee.

Russia broke the silence.

"Trouble on the home front?"

Ivan had no idea. America had to fight rolling his eyes at the rather obvious comment. It wasn't like he was trying to keep all the problems from the rest of the world. Just, no one bothered to really look into it. Sure, there were the obvious ones. Recession. The War in Iraq. Increased violence and murder rates.

There was more, though. So much more. No one really knew about it, no one really cared to peer into the heart of the U.S. and actually find out. The American public was becoming restless, relentless. They demanded change. They demanded things to stay the same. Every person, all three hundred million within his country, had their own personal opinion on everything. All of them demanded that he listen, that he grant their wish.

Sometimes, Alfred really hated free societies, if only because he had to deal with the constant headache. While it had always been this way, things were just getting out of control. The bellows of his citizens had risen, rising from normality to outright unrest. The voices echoing within the recesses of his mind were not the usual murmur of freedom he had become accustomed. It was the chaotic jumble of a population completely at odds with everyone around them.

"Like you wouldn't believe," America finally allowed. Another tired sigh and he sipped from his mug. Grudgingly, he elaborated. "Some of my kids are trying to sue me."

"Oh?" Russia pressed, honestly curious. It was the first he had heard of such a thing. Really, why would the States be suing America? As far as Russia knew, Alfred's children had always adored him. For the most part.

Alfred nodded, "Yea. Fourteen of them. A _shitton_ more are thinking about following suit."

Russia actually began to laugh. It wasn't a condescending giggle or even restrained, polite chuckles. Ivan out right laughed. America bristled at the sudden out burst, completely put on edge by the rather uncharacteristic behavior. Tensions had certainly ebbed, but he was still wary. One never stopped being wary of Russia.

"Shut the hell up!" Alfred barked, slamming his mug down.

The liquid sloshed and Russia did his best to stifle his laughter. He really hadn't meant to be so rude and laugh like that. It was obviously an issue that truly bothered America; yet, he could not stop himself. He had just found it so. . . Funny.

"Please excuse me, comrade. It is," he had to pause to compose himself before he began laughing once more. "It is just that they are all so like you."

America snorted, picking the mug back up with more force than was truly necessary. He nursed the mug to his chest, staring off out the window. Things were so peaceful outside. The moon was high, shimmering brightly against a splattering of stars. He could see a satellite quickly drifting across the sky, an airplane following suit in the dark.

"I'd hope so, they're my kids," he bit back, taking a sip. "They're just doing what they think is right. Doesn't mean it ain't a pain in my ass."

The only response he received was that unnervingly innocent smile and Ivan's gaze staring unblinkingly at him. Yes, it creeped America out, but he decided not to comment. He didn't even stop Russia as the other man stood and went into the kitchen. Fatigue was beginning to set in once more and his legs wouldn't properly obey and slip from the couch. His curious nature had been perked, though. Just what was Russia doing in the kitchen?

There were clinks. Shuffling feet. The whoosh of the tap running. Another clink. Something was being torn open. It sounded like cardboard. Silence. More shuffling feet. The sound of little scrapes, silence, and then a sickening squishing noise after several minutes.

America wrinkled his nose at the last offending sound. It vaguely reminded him of someone poking a brain, just prodding. Least, that's what his mind imaged the act would sound like. Curiosity almost got the better of him, at least, until Russia came back out. There was a steaming bowl of _something_ in his hand and that same nearly infuriating smile on his face.

He could only a cock a brow as the bowl was offered, along with a spoon. Alfred could hardly believe what he was seeing. Russia was offering him a bowl of none other than _mac'n'cheese_. The goop looked only slightly appetizing, considering it was horrendously watery and lacked that strong orange glow normally associated with the dish. He took the offered food, not having the energy to be an ass.

"You must eat, America. You are thin," Russia told him smoothly, slipping onto the sofa beside Alfred and watching intently.

With a hesitant and mistrusting glance over to the other nation, America gave a weak little shrug and lifted the spoon to his lips. It looked worse than it tasted. The noodles were soft and still hot. He nearly scalded his mouth, but hunger won over and he spooned more in. It had been a while since he last ate anything other than a hamburger. Given all the work he had piled up, it just became a habit to take a short quarter hour break to grab some fast food before setting to work again. It was pleasant to finally have something else.

"Least I'm not pudgy anymore," America mumbled between spoonfuls. While he was glad to have lost the extra little weight England teased and tortured him about, he wasn't too happy to be physically unfit. If things kept at it, he was sure even Arthur would be able to bench more than him. "Silver lining, man."

It was Russia's turn to shrug. He disengaged himself from the sofa and went behind America. The still seated nation could only tip his head back and wonder just what in the hell Ivan was doing. He got no answer, just that ever present smile as his head was tipped forward once more and hands rested on his shoulders. For a second, a chill settled through the thin fabric of his night shirt as Ivan's hands rested on his shoulders. Any discomfort from the cold soon washed away as those hands - those _godlike_ hands- began to knead and work at the muscles just between Alfred's shoulders.

He couldn't resist the purr that escaped his lips as he sat forward, revealing more of his back, and still half-heartedly chewed at his mac'n'cheese. There was no way in hell he would have ever guessed Russia was good at giving shoulder rubs, but, damn it all. Those hands felt so _good_. They were rough, digging deep down into the tissue and dragging across in lazy, slow strokes. It hurt, but the hurt was so overwhelmingly eclipsed by just how good it felt. Alfred could feel the knots unwinding under Ivan's relentless attack.

Another purr from America and Russia laughed, snapping him out of the dreamlike state he'd found himself in. Alfred blinked, not realizing he'd closed his eyes. Then those hands were gone, leaving only a lingering chill as Ivan took his seat beside America once more. Experimentally, America rolled his shoulders. They felt looser, almost normal.

With a smile, Alfred looked over to Russia, "Thanks, man. Totally needed that, ya big brute."

"_Добро пожаловать, Америки. Вы можете обратиться ко мне за что-нибудь_."

Alfred set his now empty bowl onto the coffee table and tilted his head away, hiding a sly smile, "_Вы не щедрый?_"

Then he leaned back, drinking in the rather shocked look on Ivan's face. Alfred couldn't hide the smugness on his own. It was always hilarious to see people have that reaction. Really, what did they all expect? He was the _United States_. A cultural melting pot. A mutt. Of course he knew more than English, it was just his preferred language. That, and he always figured playing an idiot twenty-four seven was an ideal strategy.

"I did not know you could speak Russian," Ivan stated.

Alfred only shrugged, eye lids drooping as sleep tugged at him. He knew he couldn't sleep, though. Aside from Russia being there, the voices wouldn't let him sleep. Even if he could ignore them for a short while, they always came back. He could be completely and utterly worn down and still rest wouldn't come. That was why he was surprised when his eyes slipped shut. This time, they did not open.

Russia did not mind the weight on his shoulder. He rather liked it. America had always been warm. Sun kissed shores, scorching deserts, warm plains. He smelled of pine and grass, wheat and earth. There was always that underlying sour smell of metal, industry, and corruption lingering just below, but it was easily ignored.

Silently, Russia slipped his arm around Alfred's shoulders, the other around the nation's waist, and he carefully shifted the sleeping body into his lap. Once placed, Ivan ducked his head down to busy his nose within those golden locks as his arms wrapped around America. It was a moment of calm serenity, one that he didn't particularly want to end.

Russia knew he would be gone by morning though.

**A/N: A hurhur. Iunno. Started this way back when and finished it while waiting for things to download. I'm not well versed on current American issues. OTL` Nor am I very familiar with US geography, etcetc. I'll stop trying to justify this now, promise. Anyway, I'll eventually get to Chapter 3 of LotF (Lord of the Flies? I lol'd). I've been trying to con my boyfriend into co-writing it with me, for I am lazy but he is stubborn. Sooo, here's something else. I DO NOT KNOW. I do so like America, but I'm just evil to things I like. . . Gah. Nevermind. No coherent thoughts. Google translator wut? I am horrible at Russian. Side note, what does mac'n'cheese taste like? **


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